


Penguins on Fire

by chimericalEscapist (Adasser)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 02:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adasser/pseuds/chimericalEscapist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the kink meme: </p><p>Not entirely certain how to word this, but I have the hugest thing for a person willingly having sex with someone they care about but do not feel attraction for without any feelings of pity and disgust.</p><p>Maybe it's a case of incompatible orientation, in whatever combination you want--one straight and one gay, one ace and one anything, whatever. Maybe B just isn't A's type. For whatever reason, A is not attracted to B. Moreover, while A loves B, A is not in love with B. A's feelings are nonromantic (in the human sense of the word--I'm ok with them being moirails if that's what you want). But B has romantic and/or sexual feelings for A, so A goes with it.</p><p>The important thing is that this isn't a chore for A, it's a transcendent expression of love--"I love you so much I would happily do this for you and smile the whole time because you're enjoying it and that's all that matters."</p><p>I would prefer if B wasn't being deceived and knew that the attraction/romance was one-sided, but without angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penguins on Fire

You, Dave Strider, are used to complications. You’re used to life never going your way. You’re used to your life being shithive maggots all the fucking time—Bro had seen to that back on Earth, and Skaia had seen to that during Sburb. You’ve come to expect that things would always be this way, and you aren’t particularly disappointed.

Then you meet Tavros, and suddenly you understand trolls and their four quadrant system—or at least one of the quadrants: matesprits. The poor bastard has been dealt a shittier hand than you, and that is kind of saying something when coming from someone whose guardian stocked the fridge with shitty swords instead of food. (That someone, of course, is you, not that you’ll ever divulge that information to anyone but yourself; Bro has a reputation to keep as the coolest bro ever, which he is.)

For a while, you are completely content to have your silly crush in peace. That is, if you consider a week and a half to be a while. Striders are good at keeping their feelings a secret, sure—feelings of any sort are under lock and fucking key, with twenty-four hour surveillance every day of the week, even on Christmas, because feeling-guards have a cruel boss (hint: that boss is you) who doesn’t give a shit about their families, and _get back to fucking work, Lawrence, or we’ll dock your pay_ —but the sooner one got his feelings out in the open, the sooner he could get an answer.

Tavros’ answer is a resounding, “Uhhh, I’m, uh, flattered, Dave, but I, uhh, don’t really pity you that much, or uhh, at all, really, I guess.”

And that’s cool. That’s cooler than cool. That’s so cool that it makes the Antarctic look like it’s hot enough to catch fire, and oh shit, it does, those poor penguin bastards. You tell Tavros this, but he sort of just blinks at you and stutters, “Uhh, what’s a penguin?” and you tell him nevermind because it wasn’t really that good of a metaphor in the first place. The point is, and you’re sure to emphasise this extra-hard so that it can get through Tavros’ weirdly thick alien skin and into his thick alien brain, that it’s cool. 

It’s not fucking cool. It’s not Antarctica that’s on fire, it’s you, and holy shit you are the poor penguin bastard, why didn’t you notice before. And maybe later in your room you mourn a little for the metaphorical penguin who metaphorically died for you, except his name is Dave and he’s not really dying, even if it feels like it a little, because you didn’t really notice until now how one of Tavros’ irises is slightly darker than the other, or how you like the way he’s filled out over the last year, and you like the shadows beneath his cheekbones, and you are so fucking smitten with him that it’s just downright sickening, and you do actually feel a little nauseous just at the thought.

“Uhh, Dave?” 

Your heart clenches and you quickly put your shades on before you tell Tavros he can come in. He slips in, his metal legs clanging in a soft reminder that you have no reason to be feeling sorry for yourself, you arrogant douche. 

“Sup, bro?” you ask, coolkid façade as in place as ever. Lawrence is on alert.

“I, uhh, just wanted to be sure that you were, uhh, really okay, because you left my respiteblock kind of quickly, and, you didn’t come to dinner, and, I figured, uhh, it was probably, maybe, at least sort of my fault.”

“No,” you deny firmly before you can stop yourself, and he looks a little startled. “I mean, hey, if you don’t want to hop on board the Strider train into Sloppy Makeout Territory, it’s your loss. Striders’ll always have others to get their mack on with. Plenty of other fish in the sea—sort of literal now, with Feferi and Eridan—”

“Dave,” he interrupts, and you take a break from embarrassing yourself to look at him. You angle your head like you’re making eye contact, but your gaze settles on his lips instead. Despite your shades, you’re ninety-four-and-two-thirds percent certain that he’s aware of where your sight is trained. “You, uh, don’t think any of that’s true,” he accuses. You entertain the thought of denying it. “Uhh, and, I wanted to help.” 

That’s piqued your curiosity. “Help?” You try to sound bored with the idea. You’re largely unsuccessful. 

“Yeah,” he says, encouraged by your interest. “You, uhh, pity me, and, you’re probably maybe my best friend, uhh, except for Gamzee, and I, uh, want you to be happy.” After that, he just stands there, staring at you expectantly. You still aren’t sure what he means, though. 

“What?” You’re eloquent as ever. You wonder vaguely how anyone could _not_ see you as pathetic.

“Uhh, I am, uh, giving you, uhh, free reign, uh, so to speak.” You blink, although he can’t see it, and he adds, “In, uhh, in your uh bedroom.” Another blink. “Uh, what I am, saying, I think, is, uhhh, that you should maybe kiss me.”

Well, you sure as hell aren’t going to make him ask twice. You flash-step over to him, and he doesn’t so much as flinch at the sudden closeness. You stare at him for a minute, to be sure that he’s not just kidding. He’s tall, taller than most of the other trolls, but he’s still an inch or two shorter than you; apparently trolls hit their growth spurts later than humans. His eyes meet your black shades, and they are positively glowing with trust and affection. 

You raise a hand to his cheek, and he doesn’t move. His skin is warm, and rougher than yours, harder, like it’s calloused over. You let yourself indulge in tracing your fingertips along his cheekbone, until he leans into your hand with a sigh that practically screams, “Kiss me before I change my mind.” And you do not want him to change his mind. 

The first kiss is awkward. He leans a little as you move to kiss him, and his fangs—you’re sorry, you think you mean razor-sharp instruments of death and destruction—nick your lips, and bump a little painfully against your teeth, and you pull away apologetically. You turn your back to hide the blush that’s settling on your fair skin, but Tavros grabs your wrist and you stop. 

“It’s, uh, cool,” he assures, and you turn to see him giving you a hesitant smile. “Uhh, paguins are, uh, on fire here.”

You smile at him despite yourself. “Penguins,” you correct.

“That’s, what I said.”

A small silence falls, wherein he watches you, and you watch him watching you, and the two of you just have a motherfucking watchfest up until your idiot mouth decides to gain some sentience of its own.

“I love you,” it says, and you hate everything that it has ever done for you in that moment.

“I, love you, too, Dave,” Tavros replies, and you know that he means it in the only way he knows how to mean it, and a part of you wants to cry because it’s more than you deserve but all that you’ll ever get from him.

“I’m in love with you.” Your mouth is a fucking traitor, and you resolve to have it publically hanged for its acts of treason against the king.

“I know.”

You cradle his face, this time with both hands to keep him from getting any ideas about leaning again, and you kiss him. It’s better this time, and he seems more mindful of his teeth, in that when you let one hand fall to his back, he doesn’t tilt his head. His lips are softer than the rest of his skin, fleshier, and he gasps when you nibble lightly on one, but he doesn’t protest. Nor does he protest as you deepen the kiss and your tongue presses past his lips. 

Troll mouths are a little weird and a little dangerous, you discover. There are razor-sharp teeth in every corner, and his tongue feels a little like a cat’s tongue, and you wonder for a minute how two trolls could possibly kiss without cutting each other to bits before you realise that the rougher skin probably helps there. But you don’t want to be thinking about other trolls while you’re kissing Tavros, or while Tavros is letting you kiss him (because he is being passive and simply standing there like he’s the motherfucking Blarney stone and you are some tourist smooching that hunk of rock for good luck), and so you stop thinking to enjoy the moment.

You pull away more quickly than you would like. Tavros’ eyes are closed, and he doesn’t open them for a minute, which gives you some more time to watch him breathe without feeling like he’ll see, even through your shades. When he does look at you again, it isn’t with disgust like a part of you had expected; the trust and affection hasn’t left him. 

You decide to see if you can kiss it out of him.

This time, when your lips meet, his arms wrap around your waist and he actually moves his lips against yours. It turns out that he’s pretty bad at kissing, but that’s okay, because you give him a gold star for effort, since you appreciate any attempt he makes. Hell, even this piss-poor performance is making your chest swell with love. 

He starts moving, except instead of breaking away from you, he’s actually pushing you toward your bed, and you don’t have it in yourself to stop him, and you hate yourself for letting him press your back into the mattress and you hate yourself a little more for the quiet, needy noise you make when his metal leg settles between your legs. You aren’t sure what he’s doing, but you know that he’ll regret it, and it’s bad enough with you hating you; you don’t need him to start.

“Tav,” you manage when you finally get him to stop kissing you. He says nothing, but he pulls your shades off and you suddenly feel completely naked. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh, thought this was what humans did, when they were in love.”

“But we’re not.” You wonder how he can keep his face so calm when the words make you physically hurt. 

“You are,” he points out unnecessarily. “Uhh, I, can’t, anyway, not anymore,” he continues, and you want to hold him and kiss him and pity him even more, “But, you can, uh, and, uhh, Gamzee made Karkat help me with some human movies earlier today…”

Your silence speaks for itself.

“I, want to do something for you. Because, you always, help me, uh, even when I’m not really all that useful, and, uh, sometimes maybe a little of a, hindrance.”

Your heart breaks, and you bury your face in his shoulder so that he doesn’t see your mask slipping. “You’re not a hindrance, and you don’t owe me anything.”

“But, I do love you.”

You can’t argue with that, or you don’t want to, so you just kiss him again. You’re in love with him, and he loves you, and just the fact that he wants to do so much for you reminds you that he is so much of a better person than you will ever be. He breaks off the kiss, though, and his hands slip beneath your shirt. You jolt, muscles tense with nervousness and anticipation. 

“Whoa, Tav, that is not something you want to start doing now.”

“I told you,” he reminds, “That I want to.”

You swallow and meet his eyes, and now they’re determined. Yours are probably teary and full of sappy love poetry, but he doesn’t seem to mind. When you relax, he slides your shirt up your torso until it bunches beneath your arms. He merely tugs you up, and pulls it over your head, sliding it down your arms. 

It’s only now that you notice how heavy your breath has gotten. You feel exposed, and you want your shades back, but Tavros is looking at you with interested doe eyes, so you suck it up. After a minute of staring at your chest, he kisses you shortly on the lips before trailing his mouth along your jaw and neck. It’s mostly lips and tongue, but every once in a while you feel the scrape of teeth, and shivers run down your spine. 

He settles in the hollow of your clavicle, running his tongue along the slightly protruding bone, kissing and nibbling at the dip. It’s saccharine sweet, and you slowly pull him so that you’re lying beneath him again, one of his legs between yours with his hips pinning you down. He slides just a little down your body so that he can continue with his mouth, lavishing affection on your sternum, your chest, until he lands on one of your nipples. His fangs scrape the skin, and your hips jerk a little under him, not-quite-halfway-to-hard Dave, Jr., pressing against his side.

“Is, uh, that your bonebulge?” he asks, and you nearly die of embarrassment.

All possible responses, cool and otherwise, flee you. You can only dumbly reply, “Yeah.”

He sits back on his knees, and you’re absolutely certain that you’ve ruined this, because who would actually stay now? But, as always, Tavros surprises you by unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your hips and fuck, you will yourself to be struck dead right now because there is no way that this is happening to you.

“Uh, wow,” he says quietly.

“Wow is damn right,” you tell him, because you have to say something to redeem some of your coolness. “This is the best moment in your life, seeing this amazing schlong, and—”

“Uhh, Dave?”

“Yeah.”

“Shut up.”

You do, and he rewards you by tracing your dick with his fingers, which isn’t quite enough, but it’s a start. Slow and curious, his movements make you want more but they’re all you need right now, because the only being you ever see yourself loving is touching you with such tender care that you can’t stop yourself from leaning up to capture his lips again. 

He presses his thumb against the tip, and your head falls back against the pillows. Encouraged by the response, he does it again, and you jerk your hips up into his hand in hopes that he’ll take a hint. To his credit, he doesn’t let you go unsatisfied, and he curls his fingers around your dick as he leans forward, whispering that he loves you, and you just lose it. A couple awkward strokes of his hand and you go rigid, cum spilling onto his hand and your stomach. You very well may cry his name.

You want to die for finishing so quickly, but either he doesn’t mind it or he pretends not to, because Tavros just presses his lips to your forehead and holds you. You don’t bother telling him that cuddling is usually a girl thing, because right now, it feels like it’s a you thing, and you never want him to leave your arms. 

After a while, though, he asks, “Should I go?”

You press your face into the crook of his neck. “Tav, bro, I’m afraid to inform you that you’ve just checked into the Hotel California, giant rock in space edition, and you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

You feel Tavros smile. “Is that, uh, another of your Earth things?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, smiling in return. And even if just for now, you are really, truly happy. While he may not be in love with you, Tavros does love you, and that is cool. Penguins-on-fire cool. And this time, you mean that.


End file.
